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154
THE BRIDE OF THE AVON.
(A True Incident.)
I
Soft and subdued is the breath of the flageolets,Sweet are the violins, plaintively gay!
Happy though pensive, see, Maidens how beautiful,
Pansies and violets strew by the way!
Snowy their robes are, their ribbons all roseate;—
Silvery flashes the Avon hard by;
Dimly far-sparkles the Severn cerulean,
Sails on its blue like the flecks on the sky!
Sunnily streams the procession, and closes,
Look! where the Bride, in a lace-curtained litter
Borne by gay servitors, screened from the glitter,
Cushioned on satin reposes.
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II
Over the ramparts of Bristol, hoar battlementsLong ago levelled, they carry her now:
Open the curtains—that vision, Ah scorn it not!
Eighty still winters have hallowed that brow!
Silkiest silver o'er features angelical,
Clear in the crystalline beauty of Age;
Calmness seraphic, a marble serenity,
Surely no gauds of this life can engage;
Triumph is there, but how faint are its traces;
Firmness how gentle! yet sweet satisfaction
Sealed in repose, is the simple attraction
Nothing you read there effaces.
III
Dead!—and the noon-glow is gladdened with melody;Dead! and rich blossoms enamel the way!—
Sixty slow summers have faded like phantasies
Since she first shone in that bridal array,
Hazelike and gem-lit as dreams of the happiness
She and her lover then looked for in vain!
Fairfax was fighting for Parliament sturdily,
Sieging this town—and her lover was slain—
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There was he laid, by the love-tended hollies:—
Muffled the drums were and knell-like the volleys:
Honours how sad—unavailing!
IV
Did she not hide it—her anguish unspeakable?O never doubt her—and mastered its throes
As in the awe of her calm Will's intensity,
And a resolve like a Fate, she arose,—
Pale, yet too blest at its life-doom—and silently
Vowed to that vanished victorious Soul,
Consort her own should be ever and consecrate!
Aye, and let years o'er her loneliness roll,
Still should the husk of poor beauty he cherished
Join his cold dust in the dress she was wearing
When he last kissed her and blest her repairing
To the fierce fight where he perished!
V
Sixty long years, then, she lived in this constancy,Breathing affection with every breath;
He was her husband, but far away travelling—
Travelling safe from disaster or death!
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Blooming a wild-flower natural there
Linked her in light with the region ineffable,
Sunshine he roamed in—she waits but to share;
Something within her that brooked no misgiving
Mirrored his Soul with such fervid emotion,
Oft at the call of her yearning devotion,
Present it stood by her, living!
VI
Sixty years thus—neither sighing nor sorrowful,Lived she—attaining where others aspire:
Quietly rapturous—blissfully reticent—
Strangely assured of her utmost desire.
Freely she mingled in mournings—festivities—
Cheerful and tranquil, whate'er might betide;
Always at will, could she not in her solitude
Sit with her bridegroom unseen by her side?
O the delight of that secret communing!
Voice at her heart's core, to solace or stir it,
Heard in her rapt exaltation, her spirit
Ever to gladness attuning!
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VII
Mighty events, all their country's vicissitudesPassing, still coupled his soul with her own;—
Holy great days when our forefathers glorious
Struck for the Truth—set the Mind on its throne—
Shivered the shackles off Conscience; she knew it then,
Proud was her hero, thrice happy his glance!
Grovelling days, when a hireling and reveller
Lavished on lusts what he crouched for to France:
Days when a choke-damp was numbing a nation—
Bigot and tyrant—mole-eyed, marble-hearted:
Ah, what a bliss from all this to be parted,
Spared all the shame and vexation!
VIII
But the pale King they rejoiced at, who wearilyToiled to the height of his noble design;
Showed how the people's proud statue of Liberty
Might in true Royalty's diadem shine.
Wonders still flashed as her life's light grew shadowy,
Brought her still nearer that life-treasured sod;
England ablaze with incredible victories—
Marlborough marching through Europe a God!
Ah, had her hero like this one succeeded!
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Better so trained for some loftier laurel—
Work in that sphere to be needed!
IX
Then she directed the will long determined on;How her true wedding-day still they should see;
How that dear grave with its osier-bound coverlet
Emerald-green should her bridal-couch be!
Coffinless he was, and she would be coffinless;
Sables and plumes and all sorrow forsworn;
She in the dress she had long ago fruitlessly
Blushing in blossoming loveliness worn;
Just as himself in the uniform lay there
Crimsoned, alas! as the sash she had fastened
When to do battle for Freedom he hastened—
Died too for Freedom that day there!
X
Thus was her death-day her day of reunion,Day of revival, rejoicing and pride!
Had she not loftily held to her fealty,
Worthy of him who so loftily died!
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Thus as their relics their spirits shall meet;
Rites hymeneal these rites, not funereal,
Flowers and maidens and music complete!—
—Sparkles on Severn's blue dimness are dancing;
White o'er the sky flow the flecks evanescent—
Gleams of the future and dreams of the present—
Mysteries bright and entrancing!
XI
Sound then, you violins, triumphing tenderly;Softly and joyously, flageolets, play!
Truly this Spirit has earned a high destiny—
Bravely asserted its claim over clay!
Say there is nothing, then, earthly or heavenly,
Science ne'er dreamt of; say Atoms exist,
Frame without intellect things intellectual,
Marvels of Mind with no Mind to assist;
Hearts there will still be too high to dissever
Hope from their instincts, as strong as assurance,
Telling the soul of its deathless endurance,
Living and loving for ever!
January 1875.
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